


Through A Child’s Eyes

by Special_Deal



Category: Original Work
Genre: Original Fiction, Original Mythology, Short, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24031723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Special_Deal/pseuds/Special_Deal
Summary: This is just a short original story I wrote, currently trying to find the creativity to continue it
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Through A Child’s Eyes

The being stood like a centaur, hooves carving up the ground as it slowed to a stop before the fae child. The writhing masses on the body showed to be rotting skin barely holding together over putrid muscle, pulsating to keep the flies away. The torso, haphazardly attached with the crudest of the Old Wonders, slumped at an odd angle, the spine broken. The same rotted muscles and spindly grey tendons made an appearance in arms that ended in wickedly clawed digits, each finger completely enveloped in the corrupted flesh. The head stood proud, the upper half of a deer skull with a rack to match the proudest of bucks, canine fangs replacing the herbivorous molars of the former owner. The human half slumped forward, a sickening snap and wet pop signaling another detached vertebrae. It hadn’t much time. With a raspy voice, it spoke for the first time in millennia.  
“Are you lost, child?”  
The child, not yet seen his eighth winter, looks into the voids of the skull, where the voice should have come from.  
“Aye, gentle creature of the Old Ways. I have lost yet again mine own family in the voids of these concrete cities, yet found an old friend. Shall we walk your final days among these streets that once were the brooks we played in?”  
The creature nodded.  
“‘Tis unfair to you, young one, that I may not appear in my former glory to awe the men into restoring me. A shame, for Athun’s sake, that you may not call upon the names of the Unspoken to raise their cities to the ground and call their brood to feast upon the children of Meita in their own homes.”  
Any adult would see a small child talking to an imaginary friend, hearing lost bits of an ancient language that whispered softly tales of childhood and longing for days to spend in the glory of trees and moonlit nights for which to watch the stars go by. Out of earshot, those affected would be despondent, being cursed to never see the stars while the cities remained, crowding out the pinpricks of the purest light with the cataract of manmade illumination. Meanwhile, the children would see a prince walking with his friend, a beautiful deer, and yearn to play out in the woods nearby, to see their friends that their parents called imaginary.  
Yet, the deepest danger lies in those who have reached the age of 13, for they are on the cusp of adulthood and childhood, where boorish mindsets and fantastic imagination create a unique blend that allow them to see the truth. One such child was found a gibbering mess that night, eyes burned out by a nearby candle. He had seen the true cost of what his kind had built, and wished to not see what would become of their so called progress.  
A stream of children followed the odd pair into the woods, as concerned parents called family and friends, since their dearest child wouldn’t go running off without telling them under normal circumstances. Unfortunately for the concerned families, stranger Wonders were at hand, and Kalix, the Eternal Timekeeper, watched as the sands of Meita, the Father of Men and Progress, slid one by one into the void.  
The crunching of leaves was all that was heard before they arrived at a strange stone carving, seemingly out of Space and out of Time. Yet Kalix and Athun, the Mother of Wonders, worked the small group into the past, arriving not only far away from the city in terms of distance, but also in terms of years. They had gone back before the city had taken over the worship of the Old Ones, before the children of Meita slaughtered and deflowered the family of the young prince.  
After standing in silence for what seemed like hours, the prince finally spoke. In the ancient tongues, he pleaded with the cast out gods, the unwanted and despised forces of destruction, the Unspoken and the Unnamed.   
“Hear me, o Betrayed and Betrayers! Find it in thy lifeless minds and thoughtless corpses to see my will be done. I pray that yet you rise, for the blood of the Old Ones call. Find that we are the last among the Oppressors to fight against their spreading blight as they burn down the sacred groves and hunt the very creatures you chose to breathe life into.”  
The 7 year old child began showing the features of his heritage, ears sharpening and facial features flattening, his body lengthening to the proper height for the Heir to Creation.  
“They call us abominations, slaughter our families, rape our daughters, and crush our spirits. With your armies and your guidance, we will rise and turn the tables in this war.”  
A great rumbling at the altar tore through the Heir’s Speech, a spear of stone piercing the torso of his dying friend.  
“I give you the blood won by treachery to awaken you,” A rift opens beneath the ground, swallowing the children whole. “And sustenance to maintain the fight yet to come. Whilst I return to mine time, I pray that your army follows.”  
As the prince returns to town, he reverts back to his childish self. Coming home from school, he greets his mother with a kiss and tears into her jugular with his bare hands, watching her choke to death on her own blood. His father would return home to see the gruesome scene that had befallen his wife, where he would slit his wrists to join her in death.  
Not hours later, the entire city would fall into chaos when the police fire upon the few children left in schools, before turning the guns on the parents. The sewers ran red with blood, feeding the army that the Heir had been pleading for so long ago.  
“At long last, we will once more water our lands with the blood of the children of Meita.”


End file.
